A Prince's Desire
by Lola Cola 7
Summary: In the age of the Romans where life was harsh and ruthless - everything resulted in blood and war. Rome, a city living in fear of it's cruel Emperor - Carlislé - has new hope when his son, Edward, is sent out to battle and finds new strength to defeat his evil Master. After the war, he is brought a beautiful slave who has lost everything. Can he heal her? Romanward/Sweetward.
1. Ruling Of Rome

**Author's Note - Enjoy my new story, sorry if you are thinking "**_**Oh God, another story Lola Cola 7?! You'll never finish your other ones!". **_**I don't blame you if you do but don't worry - I will finish my other stories! **

**I've discovered it is better to start writing out the stories that have been burning in the back of my mind for months or years and get them out so they can develop. ****It's better that way for me, and gives you guys something new to read! Best of both worlds, really.**

**Anyway, this is another Drabble-ish fic so please don't worry about chapters taking forever to write and post ;)**

**…**

**RULING OF ROME**

**…**

**62 AD **

The city of Rome had fallen upon hard times in the last decade and war could be declared at any time. The current ruler, Carlislé, was a bloodthirsty Emperor who cared nothing for the people of his kingdom, nor his wife and only heir.

Carlislé was the only son of his father and his mother had died giving birth to him. The former ruler - Julian - had been a ferocious warrior in his time and had taken over many of the settlements that were scattered in and around Rome by the force of war. When Julian died, Carlislé was in his mid-thirties and was quickly becoming a second of his father - both in looks and personality. Father and son both enjoyed capturing slaves and torturing wrong-doers when Julian had ruled

Every towns-person feared the ruler's wrath and cowered at the news of Carlislé taking over the throne. He was predicted to be far worse than his father in taking enjoyment in other's pain and suffering. His first and last wife Esmé was a beautiful, shy woman who was twenty summers when she was arranged to be married to such a monster. She had shivered with fear all through the exchanging of vows and the sight of such a handsome Emperor who had such a filthy temper towards his betrothed.

Their wedding night had not been pleasant and no sweet words were spoken as Esmé was pinned down and used until the new Emperor was fulfilled and had planted his seed to grow his heir inside her belly. She was never allowed in his chambers again as she fell pregnant immediately and Carlislé deemed her unfit for bedding as she would spoil the fornication when her bump became too large, nor was she allowed in after the birth as Carlislé labelled her as a tainted woman and had fulfilled her job to provide an heir.

The babe she had carried in her womb turned out to be a boy, which was a burden off Esmé's shoulders as she did not think she could bear having another child born into her cruel, harsh world. The future Emperor was now fully grown and had bloomed into a fine young warrior and kind ruler - unlike his father.

Carlislé was irritated by this realization and was currently sitting in his throne room, pondering his battle arrangements for the next few weeks and if his son could handle the war's ahead and get him the land he wanted.

"Garrétt!" He thundered to his most loyal warrior who hurried to the foot of his Master's throne and kneeled obligingly.

"Tell me, Garrétt, has the region of Pompeii been invaded yet at my request?" He inquired with an idle look to his nails that were being filed and clipped by a female thrall.

"No my lord, but we plan to attack unannounced in about two days time," Garrétt replied, a firm hand on the holster where the sword that made him a worthy warrior sat.

The Emperor sighed and dismissed the shivering thrall with a slap to the face. Garrétt flinched slightly as he watched as the poor, whimpering girl - who he knew was named Kátia - fled down the marble steps and out of one of the side doors.

"Has my son been prepared for this battle?" Carlislé asked impatiently, glaring down at the only man he trusted in his entire kingdom.

"Yes my Lord, I have trained the young prince myself and he is exquisite in the art of wielding a sword. I assure you, Sire." Garrétt answered loyally, without hesitance. It was indeed true that Carlislé's son, Edward, had been groomed and bred solely for battle - to take over in his father's place when the time came for Carlislé to join the Gods in the skies - but he was a naturally excellent swordsman and a swift learner.

"Summon him. I wish to speak with him immediately," The Emperor ordered as Garrétt got to his feet swiftly and bowed, his tousled brown locks shielding his eyes slightly.

Garrétt feared for Edward as he fetched him from his chambers, finding him on his bed, his head deep in a parchment about battlement techniques. The Emperor was a bitter old man with a quick temper and cared for nothing and no-one; all he cared about was power and enslavement. Garrétt didn't want Edward to get any punishments with only a mere two days until he had to ride into battle.

"Come now, young Sire, you surely need a break with all the training you have endured these past eves," Garrétt jested with a wry grin towards his future Master. His chain-mail radiated with pride as he looked upon the boy he considered a son who had altered into the life of a warrior so brilliantly. The young Prince looked up from his teachings and returned Garrétt's smile with one of his own.

"Yes," He chuckled, "But ultimately, I must be prepared for the war which is to proceed two morns from now," He spoke with conviction, both to himself and to his trainer, and laid the delicate paper aside and moving to stand on his two muscular legs.

"Now, what is needed of me?" He asked, as it was rare that Garrétt would come to his quarters at this late hour.

If it was for more sword practice, then he would gladly accept the offer. He wanted to be in top form for the days that lay ahead of him.

Garrétt spoke again, informing the prince of his fathers request.

Edward sighed heavily. "Well, duty calls I suppose,"

He and Garrétt made their way down the grand marble hallways of Carlislé's palace towards the throne room. Garrétt took his place outside the entry and handed Edward's sword to him.

Edward smiled at his thoughtfulness. His father had a ruthless temper and a bitter nature, wanting his son to become the most fearsome warrior in his kingdom, after himself of course, and did not like to see Edward minus his sword at any time.

Carlislé was becoming impatient.

"Edward!" He snarled from inside the throne room.

Edward entered swiftly.

"Good eve, father," He bowed immediately and made his way over to his master. Edward silently cursed the old man for being such a pile of shit to everyone, but kept up his façade of the ever-pleasing son.

"Nothing good about this eve," Carlislé growled, "Nor the next few for that matter. Until Pompeii is under my rule, I shall not be a pleasant man to deal with,"

_Not that you ever are_, Edward thought to himself.

He nodded in agreement quickly with his father, not wanting to face his wrath at this particular moment in time.

"You need not worry father, I am prepared, able and ready to take anything on headfirst. I will not disappoint," He promised, both to himself and his King.

"You had better not, or I shall consider disowning you and that aging bitch you have as a mother," He spat cruelly. Edward clenched his fists, angry that his father thought so little of his loving mother, the woman who had fought hard to protect her shivering child from his father's wrath when he was a babe.

Carlislé smiled maliciously at his son standing before him. He was softer than the land around his palace on a warm day and that would not do when he was to become ruler of the kingdom.

"My son, you will need to harden your shell if you wish to beat the inhabitants of Pompeii - their army is fierce, I hear, but ours needs to be fiercer," He warned as Edward's green eyes glinted with growing, concealed anger.

"I have never disappointed you, or anyone else, and I do not plan to start now," He hissed, forgetting his place.

"You are dismissed. I am sick of the sight of you," Carlislé waved his hand obnoxiously. His pale marble throne contrasted with the dark, sadistic hue of his cold, blue eyes and Edward fought back the urge to draw his sword and slash his father's neck. He was capable of doing it, seeing as Carlislé rarely carried a sword nowadays.

Instead, Edward stormed out of the throne room, forgetting his final bow, and marched to the stables. Carlislé merely chuckled darkly and ordered a thrall to fetch him a goblet of wine to wash down today's events.

Out at the stables, night was falling as Edward marched across the sand in his bare feet, his fists tightly clenched, his angular haw set and his soft bronze hair falling into his eyes with every step.

"Men!" He yelled in his firmest tone as the soldiers and stable hands looked up from polishing their equipment. "I want our army ready and armed by early tomorrow. I want every horse in the stables and fields dressed and prepared for battle. No exceptions. I want it done - now!" He thundered, his inner warrior taking over. Years of training had made him harder than steel when needed. He had decided to prove to his father he was no mere, shivering boy who would stand for being thought of as a coward. He would start the battle early and show his worth of being future king.

Slaves and soldiers scattered at his words, covering every inch of the palace grounds in their haste to carry out his unusually harsh orders. They knew he must be troubled to shout orders, as he rarely did such a thing.

Prince Edward was respected amongst his father's men, mainly because he treated everyone - especially women and children - with the utmost respect.

With his orders lingering in the air, he made his way to his Mother's chambers to spend one last evening with the most treasured person in his life. Whether his father cared or not, Edward had always been a comfort to his mother as she was married out of status and not love, and had never known what it was like to be truly cared for.

She loved her son dearly and worried bitterly over the thought of her babe going into battle so soon in his young life.

"Be safe my sweet baby," She whispered into warm summer's night air after Edward had left for his bedchambers and she was left alone until the day Carlislé would ever want her in his own bed again.

**…**

**End Note's: I hope this chapter was okay, I'm worried about it being boring. I know there was no Bella and Edward action, but it will come. **

**I am already in love with Warriorward/Princeward, who else is? ****I'm sorry if the historical details are wrong, I am no expert. I just like to mess around with history a little and bend it to my will ;)**

**Second chapter will be up very, very soon!**


	2. The Day of Decision

**Author's Note: I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter and hope it wasn't too confusing for you all.**

**It should have been pretty obvious that Garrétt is Garrett (duh), Carlislé is Carlisle and so on, so forth. Kátia is Kate for those who thought she was a random character. **

**Just PM me if you get confused or have any questions.**

**…**

**THE DAY OF DECISION **

**…**

**62 AD**

When dawn broke the next day, Edward was already awake and prepared, his attack plans drawn up and tucked away in his armour, his hair tamed and freshly washed. He had polished his sword himself and seen to his horse - Hannibal - and made certain everything was ready to set off.

There was a quiet knock at his door as he was double checking his plan of action and his mother entered when he had asked whom wished to enter.

"Edward," She whispered mournfully as she saw his attire. He looked down, feeling guilt prick at his stomach.

"I am so sorry Mama, but I must go today," He sighed wearily, running a single hand through his tangle of hair. Esmé merely nodded sadly and made her way over to her son, her thoughts of possibly never seeing him again after he rode off overwhelming her with sadness.

Edward pulled her into his arms and held her while she sobbed, her fingers latching onto his broad shoulders almost painfully. She barely came up to his chin and he smiled softly at her motherly nature as she pulled away and cupped his cheek sweetly before she brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"You promise to return to me?" She all but croaked.

Edward paused.

"I give you my word."

There was no turning back now, he had made a promise to Esmé and he could not afford to lose this battle and fail his Mother now.

Esmé left quickly after that, clamping her hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs as she fled past Carlislé's sleeping chambers towards her own.

She may never see her baby again and it killed her inside as she was powerless to stop him or his father. She laid down on her bed of straw and cloth and let her sorrow consume her.

Edward refused to break his fast and went straight to his stables. Every soldier he took charge of was lined up in the courtyard, their horses beside them ready to be mounted at Edward's command. The soldiers were split up into large groups and assembled in large squares. They bowed as Edward walked past, each group of fifty warriors getting to their knees as they paid their respects to their master.

Not one of them cared for his father. To them, Edward was the real King.

"Here boy," Edward clucked his tongue to his stallion as he strode into the stables and Hannibal walked over obediently. Edward ran his fingers through Hannibal's groomed mane and received a lick to the ear as a reward.

He chuckled softly, "I hope one day I find a woman as lovely as yourself my boy,"

Hannibal nickered, oblivious to his masters words, eager to get going.

Edward mounted swiftly and was handed his shield and skinned water casket by a male thrall who gave his master his regards.

Edward rounded up his army and stood to attention in the courtyard as his father made his way out to see them off.

Carlislé was shocked, to say the least, at his son's efforts. He had not know his son to initiate the first move in battle before.

_Not that he has ever been in a real battle, _Carlislé sneered to himself.

"Well son," Carlislé boomed out from the front steps of his palace, "Do not return home until Pompeii is mine. If you do, you will not have a penny to your name and nor will your aging whore of a mother,"

Edward fought the urge to jump from his steed and maul his pathetic excuse for a father, but refrained as he looked up to see his mother gazing out of her bedroom window, a forlorn look upon her face.

Edward swallowed and fingered his sword for comfort.

"I will not disappoint - I am no failure, father." He retorted, biting back his seething anger, his chest puffing out to bring him to his broadest upon his saddle.

Carlislé snorted. "We shall see. Now be off," He waved his hand and turned to Garrétt who was standing beside him.

"He had better not fail, or the burden of it will fall upon your shoulders also," He gritted out with a sinister sneer.

"Yes sire," Garrétt nodded meekly.

Edward turned to face his soldiers and patted Hannibal's mane.

"Order out!" He shouted firmly, clutching the reins and breaking Hannibal into a trot as his soldiers followed, group by group. The soft clattering tempo of many hooves upon the sandstone ground was soothing to Edward's ears as he collected his thoughts and concentrated on the days ahead.

Once they were out of the palace gates, the soldiers could relax as they were not under the scrutiny of Emperor Carlislé.

Edward rode out front, slowing Hannibal down a little so he would not become weary too quickly.

He wondered what the next few days held and whether he would be triumphant and rise to glory of conquering Pompeii. He wanted to show his father he was no worthless child.

On the other hand, he felt a little bad about plundering innocent people's homes and lives, but he could not turn back now. It was his destiny to become a warrior, to be a part of his father's army and to lead them into battle.

He decided that he would remain diligent in his task and urged Hannibal into a quick trot once again, heading directly for Pompeii.

**…**

**End Note's: I know I said this would be a Drabble-ish fic, so don't be alarmed that the chapters will vary in length. ****Some days short, other days long.**


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